Hidden Briar
by Skysha-Tranqui
Summary: [ON HIATUS]HslashD. Post war. Missing Harry. Why has he gone? Where is he? How can they get him back? Then warm fuzzles when Draco tries to get Harry to fall in love with him. Like he needs to TRY! Pff.
1. The spoils of war

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of it's characters, so don't sue me!

Pairing: ???

Plot:Umm…the war is over…Draco helped the Order of the Phoenix find Voldemort's hiding place (cupboard under the stairs - kidding!)…everyone is moving on with their lives…schools out, new teachers in (graduated students)…basically it, I think.

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Chapter One

"So, who can tell me what a snurzle is?" Neville Longbottom lifted his head away from the purple-leaved plants he was tending, and raised expectant eyes to the class of second years, but no one raised their hand.

"Come on, it's right here in front of you!"

"So, none of you can tell me what a snurzle is?"

A few heads were timidly shaken, and Professor Sprout sighed in only half-feigned exasperation.

"A snurzle is what is in front of you. It's main properties are much like that of a mineral, but aside from healing potions, it can also be used in…"

Neville tuned her out, shuffling around slightly as he returned to his pruning, the motion presenting the class with part of his back, and hiding his burning eyes from their sight.

He should be used to it by now, but no matter what anyone said, the fact was that the kids were all scared of him and more than half of them were slightly disgusted as well. Intellectually, he _knew_ it didn't matter what they thought, and he _knew_ it wasn't visible, or even all that bad, but it still felt like he'd been physically struck when the innocent kids, who'd never seen evil in their lives, rejected him. Shunning him before they even met him.

Returning all of his attention to the half-dozen plants in front of him, Neville carefully clipped their leaves the amount required for speediest growth, the familiar action soothing him the way nothing else seemed to lately. 

Still, compared to some Neville's problems were nothing. Three years since they'd succeeded. Three years since the evil that had plagued the wizarding world for so long had finally been eradicated, for good this time. And, three years since anyone had seen any sign of Harry Potter.

Neville still dreamed of that night. The last night he'd seen his friend. He went through all of the details in his head, examining everything Harry had said and done, searching. Searching for some clue as to why he'd run, some minor detail to indicate what Harry had been planning to do.

He'd never found anything though. Apart from the usual tenseness that came from war, and the inevitability everyone held felt, either they would succeed or they would fail, there had been nothing.

No slipping in his speech, no alteration in his demeanour from that Neville had become used to. A warrior. That was what Harry had turned into, what the war had created. Neville had known Harry before the danger had crept up, known him since first year, known the carefree boy who was already being prepared for what was to come.

Looking back, Neville could see how all of the adventures Harry had gone through had aided him, training him for what he'd have to do. No one had questioned the fact that it was Harry who ought to fight Voldemort, no one except for a certain Slytherin.

As the leader of the Slytherins, well the ones who weren't on Voldemort's side, Draco Malfoy had quite a bit of authority, and he'd put it to use. Arguing every inch of their preparations, Draco had led and the Slytherins had followed, petitioning again and again that Harry shouldn't be the one.

As Neville recalled, Draco had only halted his protests right at the end, and only then because Dumbledore had taken him aside and said something to him.

The bell rang distantly, and Neville became aware of the subdued scuffling around him. Honestly, they were so scared of him, they were afraid to leave the classroom in an apparent hurry.

Professor Sprout started to put the plants away, and gently urged the kids to leave. Their hesitation vanished, and they fair sprang for the door, several of them colliding in their haste to escape from him. Neville Longbottom. Long time class clown, converted to social pariah almost overnight.

Struggling not to choke on the tears and bitterness that threatened to rise in him, Neville absently thanked the Professor, and followed her suggestion that he take his break now.

Stripping off his gloves, Neville made his way out of the shed, and determinedly made his way to Draco's Arithmancy classroom. He needed someone to talk to, and surprising though it was, Draco was the one Neville found it easiest to be around, with Sprout coming a close second.

Ignoring the way the children dodged out of his way, Neville let his instincts guide him, and found himself heading towards the staff room. Trust Draco to choose today to go to the place farthest away from the sheds. Gritting his teeth, Neville picked up his pace, in the hope to get away from the looks of fear and distaste contorting the faces closest to him.

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Hmm…kind of different, maybe? I like this chapter, but we'll see how it comes along.

R&R please? I'll be eternally grateful! J 


	2. Running doesn't solve anything

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of it's characters, so don't sue me!

Pairings: H/D, N/?

Plot: The war is ended, Voldemort defeated, and this is everyone afterwards. Picking up the pieces, and getting used to their new lives, only some are finding it hard to let go of the past…

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Chapter Two

A man with rumpled black hair, staggered into the nightclub, a large box balanced precariously in his arms.

"Guy! Over here, bring it over!"

A man with blond hair and green eyes hurried over, ushering the newcomer over to the stage area of the club.

The club was a rather large, very successful one, with live performances held twice a week on average, and DJ's hired for the remaining days. A large bar ran the length of the room, with two doors behind it. One led to the kitchen, where they served light snacks, and kept extra supplies should the bar run out. The other led to the office, and the employee's changing rooms.

A small lounge area to the right side was used for larger parties of people, and could be reserved in advance. Surrounding the stage was a large dance floor, and several high tables, and stools filled in the area between the lounge and the dance floor. That area was for the clubbers, so they had somewhere to put their drinks, or bar food, when they took a break from dancing.

A small toilet area was near the entrance, with a couple of pay phones set up next to it.

The colour scheme of the club was dark, with dim lighting, with the lounge area slightly lighter than the rest. The club was renowned for its moody, slightly mournful theme, and the music generally reflected that, although it was sometimes altered to reflect what was preferred by the public at the time. The DJ's were known to take requests, but the live performers never deviated from their performance plan.

Guy dropped the box onto the stage floor, which was raised from the rest, and had some steps up the side for the performers. Ignoring the steps, he lightly vaulted up, and crouched next to the box.

Although he didn't own the club, Guy was there the largest amount of time. The owners; Sannah and Ben, appreciated Guy being there so often. Ben, who was currently climbing up the steps, often commented on how Guy improved business, thanks in part to his looks, and in part to his personality.

It was true, although unintentional, but Guy did fit in with the club's theme. Perhaps more than was healthy, as Sannah had a habit of saying.

He didn't dress in black all the time, or harbour any suicidal thoughts, but he did have a habit of sticking with dark colours, and was very secretive when it came to his past.

At the moment, Guy was dressed entirely in black, even though it was broad daylight outside, and a decidedly sunny day for once.

Wearing a skin-tight black vest, and slightly baggy black jeans, he exuded casual scruff, and yet his slim body rippled with muscles whenever he moved. Reaching out, he almost casually ripped the box open, then began passing the musical equipment to Ben who was crouched beside him, watching him wryly.

"I guess you don't need my help then?"

Guy's head jerked up, and his green eyes bored into Ben's for a moment, an expression close to pain flickering across his face.

"Actually, yeah, I'd appreciate it." Smiling slightly at his friend's expression, Guy turned back to the box, pretending not to hear him groan.

They managed to finish adjusting the wiring in time for lunch, with Guy doing the majority of the work, and Ben providing the entertainment, with his inadvertently funny facial expressions and mutterings under his breath.

Lucy came out from the kitchen, bearing a tray filled with plates. Setting up one of the tables in the lounge area, she arranged the food with the ease of long practise.

Flicking her brown hair over her shoulder, her earrings flashed silver as she waved the two men over. 

"Where's Patrick, I thought he was helping you clean up today?" 

No sooner had Guy voiced the question, then a pair of hands covered his eyes, and a voice whispered in his ear.

"Glad to see you missed me too, love."

Guy sat rigid in his chair, and his friends wondered if he'd turned to stone. Removing his hands from Guy's eyes, Patrick rested them briefly on his shoulders, surprised to feel the muscle had gone rock hard under his touch.

Sitting down himself, Patrick tried to surreptitiously sidle up to the man he fancied, hoping that the tenseness showed his friend was not immune to his charms.

"I've got some work to finish off. I'm going to do that, then I'll see you guys tomorrow night. Sorry about lunch Lucy."

Lucy murmured something that sounded appropriately forgiving, occupying herself with dishing up a generous serving of salad on each plate, except for Guy's.

Guy walked off, heading for the office, where he had promised Sannah he'd fix the computer, and try to modify it a bit. 

Patrick looked at him in annoyance. Finally, just when he thought he was finally getting through to the current object of his desire, Guy had successfully escaped, again.

Lucy rapped him across the knuckles with her fork, and Patrick yelped, looking at her woundedly

"Why can't you leave the poor bloke alone? It's obvious to all watching that he doesn't return your affections, and you don't even know if he's gay. So, why do you insist on pursuing him?"

Patrick looked at her incredulously, "I can _always_ tell when someone is gay, and he is as bent as they come! He just hasn't succumbed to my charm yet, but he will, as soon as he gets to know me a bit better."

Ben and Lucy raised their eyebrows doubtfully, and exchanged glances over Patrick's head. Sighing tiredly, Lucy gave up on convincing the determined man, and dished up the rest of the food.

Ben looked from Patrick to the door Guy had disappeared through, and frowned thoughtfully. 

A few hours later, Patrick had returned to cleaning duty, where Ben had gleefully assigned him the toilets. Lucy had gone home to rest, before she came back on in the evening.

Guy hadn't emerged from the office yet, so Ben decided to take the chance to talk to him about something. As Ben's wife had a habit of saying; 'wallowing in the past doesn't help anything, only confronting it head on makes any difference'. Since Ben thought Sannah was a very wise woman, he'd decided to take her advise to heart, and make Guy do the same.

The pale blue room was a stark contrast from the darkly furnished club, and Ben could see Guy sat at the computer, his fingers rapidly typing commands.

Coming around the desk, Ben perched on the top, idly flicking through some mail whilst he waited for Guy to finish whatever he was doing. It soon became apparent Guy was no where near finished, and either ignoring or oblivious to the subtle hint that Ben wanted to say something.

"Guy, can you pause that for a minute?"

Guy's green eyes shifted from the screen to Ben's face, for the first time since Ben had entered the room, and he lifted his hands away from the keyboard instantly.

"I think we need to talk about something."

"I know you don't like us prying into your past, and I know you aren't on the run from the police or anything like that, but I also know you are running from something."

"I'm not asking you to tell me what, and I don't really want to know to be completely honest with you. This…thing, is affecting you though, and I think it's about time you faced it. I don't know how you should go about this. I don't know if you need to get smashed, symbolically burn some photos, have a good crying session, or what."

"I do believe that you need to do something though, and I'll support you whatever you end up doing."

Ben waited to see if Guy had anything to say, but Guy's eyes remained downcast, giving Ben no clue as to his reaction. Taking a deep breath, Ben told himself the worst was over, and he might as well finish it.

"You will always have a job here, you know that, but I think you need to figure out what it is you really want. Understand I'm not firing you or anything, and feel free to tell me to fuck off, but if you want it you can take some time off to think, or do whatever it is you need to do."

"As a friendly warning, Patrick is convinced you will fall for him if he keeps trying, and he is very stubborn. Just, let me know if you decide anything."

Lowering his own eyes, Ben ran through everything he'd said and decided he had done all he could. Rising from his perch on the desk, Ben was turning to leave, when Guy grabbed his arm.

Ben hadn't even seen Guy move, and jumped in surprise, making Guy immediately let go.

"I think, it would be a good idea for me to take some time off. How long can I have?"

"Umm…" Ben's head buzzed in startlement, and it was a while before he found he could still think. "How does five weeks sound?"

"That would be great, thanks. I'll be finished here in a minute, and then I'll come to tell you I'm leaving, okay?"

Ben dumbly nodded, and moved out of the office, not even registering that he'd just been practically ordered out of his own office.

Guy had appeared out of the blue one evening, immediately approaching Ben and asking if he had any jobs going. Ben had taken him on as bar help, but Guy had quickly taken on other jobs as well, until he had a hand in practically every aspect of the club.

Ever since he'd arrived, Ben had seen Guy being approached by members of both sexes, and calmly evading all of their attempts. They tried to subtly rub against Guy enticingly, and suddenly he wasn't standing where he was before. It had frustrated Patrick no end, but Ben suddenly realised this afternoon had been the first time he'd seen Guy ever touch someone.

Of course he'd seen him brush against people when they were stood too close, and they'd shook hands when Ben had first hired him, but other than that, Guy seemed to avoid physical contact. It was only now that he thought about it that Ben noticed that fact, and he admired the skill which Guy obviously possessed, to be able to do such unnoticeably.

Running a hand through his golden hair, Ben tidied up the tables and chairs, before checking on the club's supplies.

Just as he was finishing his list of what they'd need to stock up on after tonight, Guy knocked on the kitchen door, to let him know he was there.

Lifting his head from the bottle he was studying, Ben smiled at Guy, who was leaning half of his body in the doorway, looking curiously reminiscent of a boy who knows he's about to get yelled at.

"So…five weeks from now, right?"

"Yeah…here, this is a number you can reach me on." Ben accepted the piece of paper offered him, only briefly looking at the numbers on it before he tucked it in his shirt pocket.

"If you don't get an answer just leave a message on the answering machine, I'll ring you back. If you need any help, or…anything, call me?"

Recognising the delaying tactic for what it was, Ben subtly ushered Guy through the club, to the exit, assuring Guy he would ring if he needed anything.

Finally getting Guy out the door, Ben managed to refrain from locking the door, settling for shutting it firmly instead. Releasing his breath in a sigh, Ben leaned against the shut door for a moment, before heading back to work, shaking his head at the thought of grown men who inexplicably turned into big babies when they didn't want to do something. Maybe Sannah was right when she said men were wimps, she was turning out to be right a lot lately.

Outside the nightclub, Guy leaned against the shut door, and tilted his head to the sky. Ignoring the odd looks directed at him from the people walking past, Guy closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

Allowing the sun to warm his face, Guy ran fingers through his thick black hair, then stretched languidly.

It was Guy who had worked in the club for the past three years. It was Guy who had been hit on, by men and women alike. It was Guy who had turned them down, skilfully manoeuvring around their not-so-subtle hints. It was Guy who leaned against smooth wood and closed his eyes to the sun, but it was Harry who opened them again.

Allowing himself to feel the world for the first time in three long years, Harry turned timid eyes to the street, examining the details he had been ignoring for so long.

Overcoming his fear, Harry repeatedly told himself there was nothing he should fear anymore, refusing to let himself dwell on why that was. Dropping the small glamour which had hidden his scar, Harry wandered down the street in plain sight. He walked like Guy, was, to all intents and purposes the same as before, but he was no longer hiding.

Moving in a definite direction now, Harry gathered his famous resolve around himself. He was back, and he had some people to see, and things which desperately needed doing. He had left things for much too long, and things which should have been done years ago would have to be done now instead.

Despite leaving Ben with a contact number, and meaning it when he offered his services should Ben need them, Harry knew he wouldn't be content working in a nightclub for the rest of his life, and he had a sneaking suspicion his friend knew that. 

Ben claimed Sannah was the brains of the couple, but Harry had a feeling Ben would never resort to phoning Harry's number. Still, he'd definitely have to visit them sometime at the very least.

Reaching the end of the street, Harry looked around once, then vanished soundlessly, disappearing the same way he had appeared all those years ago. Out of the blue.

****

Well? I don't think Harry should be dragged back in this fic - but you are welcome to dislike my method of returning him, if you wish.

R&R, please? I've got to go and write another chapter for my other current fic - 'Taming the dragon' (is that the right name? I can't remember - cringe)


	3. Who would recognise this face?

Disclaimer: I don't won Harry Potter, or any of it's characters, so don't sue me!

Pairings: H/D and N/? so far…

Plot: Harry, a.k.a.; Guy, is coming back home. After the war and Voldemort was defeated, Harry walked away from his life and the after-effects of the battle, seeking refuge from the world in his persona - Guy. Now, it's time for him to face the music, and that which manages to scare him, when Voldemort always managed to fail.

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Chapter Three

Hogwarts looked exactly as Harry remembered, only more vivid. As if, all those years ago, he'd seen the ancient castle through veiled eyes. Veiled with innocence, perhaps? Now, Harry's eyes focused in on every crack in the stonework, every sign of age and weakness was catalogued and stored for future, automatically. Harry didn't even notice he'd fallen back into tactically analysing everything, another sign that he was definitely back. He'd never thought about it before either.

A lone bird cawed as it wheeled over the side of the castle, vanishing in the dark trees peaking out from behind the castle. Forbidden Forest. 

Shaking his head slightly, Harry plucked at his black vest and jeans, thinking it might have been a good idea to get changed before visiting. 

Upon arrival in Hogsmeade, Harry's sole thought had been to get a shower and some food, seeing how he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and done quite a bit of manual work since then. Not to mention magic, for the first time in a long time. 

Mind you, if he had paused long enough to get changed, he probably would have continued to put this visit off, and he had already done that for more than long enough.

Walking up to the front door of the castle, Harry had raised his hand to knock, when the door swung open. The trickle of power which accompanied the movement, was enough to tell Harry the castle was responsible for it.

"Welcoming me home, huh?" A wry grin tugged at his mouth, before he brushed it aside and accepted the invitation to enter.

Lowering his head slightly, Harry's gaze swept the entrance hall, keen eyes noting the positions of students walking through.

A casual thought made a lock of his black hair drop over his scar. Tilting his head casually, Harry moved swiftly across the open-plan stone, making his way unerringly for the staircase. Several students sent curious glances his way, a few of the girls lingering over his attire, but on the whole they recognised his familiarity with the castle and let him be. This gave Harry a rather relieved feeling, as whilst he might not be hiding anymore, he was in no hurry to be recognised either. 

The statue hiding Dumbledore's office was where it had always been, and for a moment Harry paused. Gathering himself, Harry accepted the information the castle offered him, quickly catching up on the changes which had occurred since he'd been gone; new rooms which had been added, ones which had been removed, Professor's who had come and gone, as well as the positioning of the Headmaster at that exact moment.

Not in his office, the Headmaster was finishing up his own lunch at a leisurely pace. He was, however, moments away from finishing, after which he had a pile of papers to go through.

Noting the fond, slightly mischievous tone attached to that piece of knowledge, Harry filed it away for future reference, not wishing to psychoanalyze the relationship between Dumbledore and castle right then.

"Toffee Tops."

The gargoyle gave him a funny look, but accepted the password Harry had received from the castle, and the staircase soon rose from the ground.

Harry was about to walk up and await the Headmaster in his office, like the castle suggested, when a couple of Professors walked round the corner. They appeared to be headed right towards him, and appeared to be discussing something heatedly. Or, at least one of them was the discussing something heatedly, the other one gave the rather strong impression of being bored out of his mind.

"Malfoy, you _know_ you are possibly the only person who could find him! I just don't understand why you've never even _tried_, surely you want to see him again like the rest of us do?"

An extremely annoyed sigh issued from the bored one, and in that instant Harry recognised the two men moving towards him at a rapid speed. Draco Malfoy, and…Neville Longbottom, surprising as that combination sounded.

Harry's eyelids flickered slightly, the only sign that he recognised the two newcomers, as his face reflected none of the turmoil he now felt. As Harry had been assimilating this new information, the gargoyle had got impatient waiting for him to go up, and had now closed off Harry's only possible escape which wouldn't either; look suspicious, or take him near the two Professors.

Finally deciding the fates could go screw themselves, Harry turned and indolently leaned his back against the gargoyle, arms crossing over his chest to complete the picture of casual laziness.

Squashing down all of his emotions, Harry made minute adjustments to his face, conjuring up a bland expression that outdid even Malfoy's. The arguing couple drew nearer, voices beginning to fade as they caught sight of him. Taking the time he had, Harry looked them over and assessed the level of danger he was presently in.

Neville had lost his baby fat, and with its disappearance, a square jaw had appeared. His body was slightly muscled, but it looked more result of work than any conscious effort on his part. Tanned a light brown, no doubt from his job as gardener, and Professor Sprout's assistant - knowledge courtesy of the castle - Neville still held an innocent gawkiness, which told Harry that Neville still hadn't found himself a partner.

Hair which had been a dull brown, now looked a warm chestnut, thanks to a few strands of hair which had been bleached from the sun. All in all, Neville looked great, and Harry was glad of that. Neville's eyes told a different story, however, as a haunted look still darkened their shade. 

He was currently looking at Harry with curiosity, mingled with a slight flinch. Harry's mind clinically analysed the data he was presented with, and came to an immediate reading. Neville wanted to meet the newcomer, but was worried about the manner in which the newcomer would react to _him_.

Shoving down the slight worry this conclusion gave him, Harry subtly switched his attention to the other man, only the shadowed movement of his pupils giving him away.

Draco Malfoy…hadn't changed a bit. He was still blond, still grey eyed, still elegant, still tall. Unlike Neville, whose muscles came from his job, Malfoy had trained as hard as Harry for the war. His body rippled with sleek muscles as he moved, his black robes not even managing to hide that fact from Harry completely. Then again, not many people had the observational capacity Harry did. Someone else would probably just see a slim young man, whose sleek movements lended him a gentle grace.

Harry had seen Malfoy fighting in the war though, he'd seen the man put those muscles to use, and he'd seen a ruthless, efficient, killer.

Kind of reminded him or himself, as Hermione had once described him, when she stumbled across him practising fighting skills.

Neville Longbottom was an open book to Harry, his every emotion flickering across his eyes, if not his face, in a way which would probably have got him killed if Voldemort was still alive. Thankfully, he wasn't.

Draco Malfoy, by comparison, wasn't nearly as easy. He demonstrated surface emotions willingly, no doubt knowing what it took to keep people from being unconsciously uncomfortable in his presence, but all of his deeper, less fake-able emotions, were hidden. 

Harry could read a trace of annoyance in Draco's gaze, as well as a fond exasperation he didn't appear to be aware of showing. When he looked at Harry, something flickered through his eyes, which almost seemed like happiness, instantly followed by disappointment.

Apparently, Draco Malfoy had thought Harry was someone else, someone he wanted to see, but he'd realised that Harry wasn't this person as well. Harry peered at Draco from under his messy fringe, and the shadows hiding his features.

Instinctively deepening his concentration, Harry felt the curious sensation of his head peeling open, as he opened himself to _feel_ the emotions. 

The analyst part of him had been spot on, as usual, but there was something more coming from Draco. Waiting patiently, Harry almost reeled when the powerful sense of longing accosted his eighth senses.

By now they were almost even with him, and Harry quickly closed off his eighth sense, not wanting to deal with intense emotions from such a small distance. Too much for him to deal with in one go.

Grey eyes locked with Harry's, and he kept his face the same, only allowing a small quirking of his lips to imply any kind of welcome. Draco Malfoy returned the gesture, a small spark of wry humour flaring from him.

Switching his gaze to Neville, who was standing on the other side of Draco, Harry included a small dip of his head in his acknowledgement of the man. Watching as a smile of complete amazement, and shy delight, spread across the face of the man who Harry used to consider one of his closest friends, Harry mentally noted to have a talk with Dumbledore about Neville's problems.

Or, he did, until the whiff of wolf reached him, via his seventh sense. Ah. Apparently, Neville had acquired some wolf in his cocktail, making him a werewolf, and as such ostracised from the majority of the prejudiced wizarding society. No need to ask Dumbledore, that small fact explained it all, and incited Harry's anger. Not a good thing.

The two men, having greeted Harry, continued on their way, no flicker of recognition flaring to life.

Draco Malfoy passed one last, suspicious look, over his shoulder, before he and his companion turned a corner and were gone from sight.

Grateful that Draco had at least attempted to be subtle about the look, Harry slumped against the statue, deciding that he might as well wait for Dumbledore here, seeing how the Headmaster was on his way.

****

Did you like? I hope so - although I kept changing things as I went.

I've got to go, but I will hopefully update either this fic, or my other, current, fic soon.

Remember - R&R, please?


	4. Dumbledore isn't as accommodating as peo...

Disclaimer: I don't won Harry Potter, or any of it's characters, so don't sue me!

Pairings: H/D and N/? so far…

Plot: Harry, a.k.a.; Guy, is coming back home. After the war and Voldemort was defeated, Harry walked away from his life and the after-effects of the battle, seeking refuge from the world in his persona - Guy. Now, it's time for him to face the music, and that which manages to scare him, when Voldemort always managed to fail.

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Chapter Four

Dumbledore slowly blinked at the young man sat opposite him at his desk, "So…you don't want people to know who you really are?"

"Correct." Dipping his head slightly, Harry puzzled over the Headmaster's bumbling. Whilst the old man thoroughly enjoyed playing up to the idea of an incompetent old man who should be in a nursing home or a mental institution, as opposed to running a school, Harry had never seen the man so obviously play for time. 

Meeting Dumbledore at the bottom of the stairs had certainly surprised the old man, especially when he didn't have any problem recognising the young man he'd long thought dead. The offer of a cup of tea, and a lemon drop had quickly been issued, and gently rejected. When Harry had broached the topic of him becoming a teacher at Hogwarts, Dumbledore had been thrilled with the idea, quickly offering him the position as Professor of Muggle Studies. 

Harry had been pleased that Dumbledore hadn't offered him the Quidditch or Defense Against the Dark Arts posts, which he'd always been considered best at before. Muggle Studies was something he could definitely do though, and would hopefully keep him grounded in the wizarding world.

As soon as Harry had brought up the topic of keeping his real identity hidden though, the Headmaster had clammed up with the speed of a shellfish about to be eaten. Unable to understand his reasoning, Harry subtly probed the Headmaster with his eighth sense. An abating sadness immediately rose to meet him, accompanied by new hope, as well as a slight disappointment. What was the Headmaster disappointed about? That Harry had run away? That Harry wasn't dead? 

As Harry's brain was trying to analyse the Headmaster's emotions, a sense of anticipation suddenly overran the other feelings, and Harry picked up the faint sound of the spiral staircase rising through the office door.

"Headmaster? It was…hard enough, to come back. To face everybody though…" Allowing his mask to slip, Harry showed Dumbledore his uncertainty, and the bone-deep urge to flee, in an attempt to get the Headmaster to keep his identity secret.

"Fine." Dumbledore looked disappointed for a moment, but mischievousness soon rose up in his emotions, although the only sign of it on the outside was the twinkling of his eyes. "I don't like it though, and as such I will make no attempt to hide your identity, aside from not announcing it publicly. If they happen to figure it out from…hints, or such, then so be it."

Mind rapidly calculating the risk involved with that agreement, Harry barely managed a nod of agreement before the door to Dumbledore's office was opened from the outside.

Standing, glowering in the doorway, loomed the ominous figure of Professor Snape. His mouth open, no doubt to deliver a stinging comment to the Headmaster, Snape abruptly closed it when he got a look at the occupants of Dumbledore's office. Taking a look at the stunned expression his resident potions master was sporting, Dumbledore then turned back to Harry, a smile of blatant satisfaction turning his lips upwards.

Or, at least, he turned to where Harry had last been. Perched primly in the self-same seat the missing Harry Potter had been occupying, a sleek black cougar blinked innocent green eyes up at the two gawping wizards. 

Casually licking one black paw, Harry smoothed down a patch of fur, enjoying the feelings of shock emanating from both men. Briefly looking in the Headmaster's direction again, Harry slowly closed one green eye, an expression of feline satisfaction crossing _his_ face, before he lightly jumped off his chair and sauntered out of the still-open door.

Halfway down the staircase, Harry reverted to human form, unable to control his slight snicker of amusement when he recalled the way Snape had jumped out of the cougar's way. He should have realised returning wouldn't be as easy as he'd hoped. Instead of teaching at Hogwarts and checking up on how everyone was doing, as an unimportant, unknown Professor, he'd have to keep an eye on Dumbledore to remain incognito. Maybe arriving cloaked in a glamour would have been a better idea, or just briefly spying on everybody.

No. No matter how much he wished he could deceive himself, Harry knew this was the only method available to him. Ascertaining people's mental and emotional health was a lengthy task, as such a quick spying job wouldn't be enough. And coming in disguise, whilst the easiest solution, would definitely make people suspicious and curious about him. Still, Dumbledore could have been a bit more accommodating. Yet, for whatever reason, the old man obviously disapproved of Harry not telling people who he really was. Oh, well. Hard ways are not necessarily all that bad, and if Dumbledore thought Harry was going to get caught out so easily, he had another thought coming.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A silence of epic proportions descended in the Headmaster's office, as both men stared at the open door in shock.

"Albus," Snape finally said, turning to Dumbledore at last. "Were you having a conversation with that cat?"

Well done, Harry. Dumbledore thought to himself. You've obviously changed quite a bit. Unable to help himself, the old man felt the smile of anticipation spreading across his face, and ignored the strange looks Severus was giving him with the ease of practise. I can't wait to see what else you have up your sleeves.

Realising he was getting no response from his batty employer, Snape left the office, having forgotten his reason for going up there in the first place, muttering under his breath about men who talked to themselves and winking jungle cats.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Turning a pleading look on the other man, Neville saw the sudden softening in the grey eyes, and felt the exhilaration of winning for the first time in a long time.

"No."

Maybe he'd overestimated his success slightly.

"Why not? You've always said 'no', but you've never said why." Pausing to look at Draco directly, Neville noted the slight tightening of his jaw, glad the conversation was having some impact. Even though he felt more comfortable around Draco, there was no denying that it sometimes felt like he was talking to a brick wall, for the amount of attention paid to him.

"You can pretend with everyone else, Draco. But I was there! I know you two were friends!" 

"You were worried about him, that's why you argued so extensively against him fighting Voldemort on his own. I get that, I really do. I was worried too, but I knew it would make no difference what I did. The prophecy set the scene of the battle long before anybody knew a battle would have to take place."

"So tell me, just this once, Draco. Why don't you want to go and find Harry? Why don't you want your friend back?"

For a long moment Draco looked out over the lake, expression unreadable. Finally he turned to face Neville, anger clearly visible in his eyes. Anger at being pushed this far, anger at being vulnerable.

"He left, okay! He left." Turning back to the lake, a frown creased the normally smooth brow, as Draco battled with some thoughts on his own. "What if he doesn't want to come back?"

Suddenly feeling like crap for refusing to leave a sore subject alone, Neville accepted Draco's response and just stood next to the other man, trying to comfort him with his silent presence. Despite feeling bad, Neville knew it was good for Draco to finally open up slightly, and allowed his thoughts to drift to the newcomer they'd just come across.

The hallway had been shadowy, and the stranger's dark clothes had effectively hidden him from view. What little could be seen of his features had been confusing. The man had looked bored and arrogant, yet he hadn't seemed annoyed by their presence, rather he had greeted them both politely. Whoever the man was, he had shaken Draco up enough that it had taken Neville hardly any prodding before opening up, despite that fact that Draco had never opened up before. 

"What are you thinking about now? I get worried when you go quiet, you're normally up to something when that happens, and it generally involved me to some degree." Peeping up at Draco, Neville judged the man recovered enough to take some more stirring.

"I was just thinking about that man."

Draco jerked slightly, eyes automatically looking back the way they had just come. "Yeah, he'd worth thinking about, I guess. Obviously a newcomer, given neither of us recognised him, and he didn't appear to recognise us. He evidently hasn't heard about us either, otherwise he'd be a bit more wary of the Professors here, wanting to know who the Death Eater and the werewolf are before befriending anybody. He looks a lot like…somebody else."

Interesting, Neville thought, I didn't even have to clarify what man I was talking about.

"It looked like he was waiting for Dumbledore though, so I guess we'll find out who he was soon enough. And if not, we can always ask for information."

Neville was about to question Draco's interest in the man, when the sound of a fight taking place distracted them both. Muttering something derogatory about feuding students, Draco stormed over to the students in question, doing his best impression of Snape to date.

Leaving his fellow Professor to it, Neville slipped over to the gardens. Flourishing beautifully with as many different species possible, the gardens were avoided like the plague, due to their caretaker, and guaranteed Neville privacy from staring students. Setting the matter of the newcomer aside for the time being, Neville picked up his pruning sheers and headed to the rose gardens. So few people entered Hogwart's official gardens anymore, that very few students were actually aware they had rose gardens.

****

Sorry it took so long to update - and sorry that this chapter is all over the place! Still, I hope you like it, and I've got something's you should probably know in order to understand this fic better.

As you've probably noticed, Harry is not your usual wizard, this is how he managed to defeat Voldemort, but nobody ever found out how powerful he really is. Here are some - extra - powers of his;

(1) He has eight senses, as opposed to the normal five: 1-sight; 2-hearing; 3-touch; 4-taste; 5-scent; 6-heat; 7-spirit; 8-emotion (as you've probably noticed, he uses the eighth one a lot!) à all of his 'regular' senses are marginally better than a normal person's as well, which makes eavesdropping easier!

(2) He is an animagus, but with no fixed form, although he only has a certain amount down pat so far: 1-cougar; 2-black cat; 3-raven; 4-snake; 5-dragon.

(3) He can turn invisible at will.

(4) He can work wandless magic.

(5) He can apparate.

(6) All of his magic is generally stronger/more potent than a normal witch or wizard's.

Anyway, let me know if you liked this chapter or not, and reviews are always welcome! ^_^


	5. Suspicious beginnings

Disclaimer: I don't won Harry Potter, or any of it's characters, so don't sue me!

Pairings: H/D and N/? so far…

Plot: Harry, a.k.a.; Guy, is coming back home. After the war and Voldemort was defeated, Harry walked away from his life and the after-effects of the battle, seeking refuge from the world in his persona - Guy. Now, it's time for him to face the music, and that which manages to scare him, when Voldemort always managed to fail.

Chapter Five

By the time Dumbledore gathered his wits enough to send Blaise Zambini after Harry, the majority of students had already seen the visitor wandering around the castle, in a seemingly random fashion. A few had been brave enough to ask him if he needed directions to the Headmaster's office, but Harry calmly turned down the offers and explained he'd already been there.

See, Harry's wandering was anything but meaningless. As he walked around the school, checking for any new hidden passages, and re-familiarising himself with the castle layout in general, the castle itself was filling him in on everything that he had missed.

For some reason the castle was fixated with relationships, the steamier the better. As a result, Harry decided the castle _had_ to have a female personality, as only a female could take such pleasure in gossip. After having every student couple pointed out to him as he walked, the castle decided to divulge the interesting information that Draco Malfoy hadn't dated someone since the war ended. Why that piece of information should be of interest, Harry couldn't quite understand, but he followed his instincts and stored it away in his brain anyway. Understanding the warm feeling that came with the information, was from the castle 'fondly' thinking of Dumbledore again, Harry quickly asked for an update on the Professors currently employed at Hogwarts.

Draco was now Professor of Arithmancy, Remus had been reinstated as Professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Blaise was in charge of a new subject, devoted to all kinds of sports; muggle and wizard, which had him co-teaching Quidditch with Madame Hooch. Other than those three, and Neville, who was official gardener and Professor Sprouts' assistant, there had been no major additions to the staff. Until now, anyhow. Thinking quickly, Harry asked the castle to estimate the stir his arrival was likely to cause.

After being reassured that nobody would think it too odd, as they had desperately needed a new Professor of Muggle Studies anyhow, Harry was about to ask after all the Professors' health, when Blaise managed to track him down and insisted on giving him a tour of the castle.

"Sure, that would be much appreciated, thanks." Ignoring the curious looks the other man kept throwing at him as they walked, Harry concentrated on the places shown to him, keeping up the appearance of a new comer by asking the occasional question.

Reaching the gardens, Harry felt vaguely surprised when Blaise insisted on covering them in his tour as well. Allowing the brown eyed man to lead the way across the fresh cut grass, Harry absorbed the fact that they were heading to the rose gardens, with a silent 'thank you' given to the castle in return.

Entering the sweetly-smelling circle of plants, Harry was vaguely surprised to see Neville bent over the beautiful blooms, delicately pruning them the muggle way. Blaise immediately went over to Neville's side, and engaged him in conversation, turning to include Harry occasionally. Keeping a vague ear on the conversation, Harry nodded in agreement on occasion, and murmured the expected responses, moving to examine the garden in better detail as he did.

The castle gleefully informed Harry of the fact that Blaise often wandered into the gardens when he had a free moment, as though that were cause to celebrate. It took the castle explaining its own hypothesis that Blaise liked Neville, in a more than friendly way, for Harry to recognise the implications of the original comment. Looking back over at the pair, Harry allowed a slight smile to appear on his face as he took in the light touches Blaise kept bestowing on the oblivious gardener, under the guise of showing Neville a pruning technique his mum used to swear by.

Aware that it was getting late, and he still had a few 'details' to iron out with Dumbledore, Harry bid the two men goodbye and briefly explained his intention of seeking the Headmaster out.

Gravel crunching under his feet was the only sound as he made his way around to the entrance of the castle again, all the noisy children long settled into their final lesson of the day, and the teachers either teaching or enjoying their free time by relaxing in some way.

Despite the lack of noise, or perhaps because of it, Harry became aware that the feeling of being observed was creating a tingling sensation between his shoulder blades. Moderating his pace to that of a casual stroll, Harry traced his route in his head, picking out the perfect place to 'vanish'.

The chosen corner fast approaching, and Harry was careful not to change his behaviour in any way as he began tracking the source of his audience. Licking his upper lip, Harry used the moment of exposure of his tongue to taste the air, using his enhanced fourth sense to flick through the taste spectrum for something out of place. The faint taste of mint and ferns made themselves known, out of place for the sole reason that they were intertwined, indicating the specific scent associated with an individual. Switching to his sixth sense, Harry managed to pinpoint a human-sized heat signature emanating from behind and to the right. Perfect, at just the right angle for his disappearing trick to work.

Turning around the stone corner, Harry shifted. A second later, a charcoal black raven settled itself upon the stone statue of a woman, wings snapping shut as it prepared to wait a while.

However, only a couple of minutes had passed before the raven was rewarded for its patience. Almost-silent footsteps approached the corner, indicating whoever it was were used to traversing the gravel pathway. The edge of a cloak brushed against the stone wall, and suddenly he was there.

Calm grey eyes surveyed the empty walkway in front of him, left eyebrow rising slightly as his gaze shifted to the undisturbed gravel in front of him. A graceful hand sweeping through platinum blond hair was the only sign of the frustration emanating off him, and even that was more than normally allowed. Schooling himself to act normal, Draco Malfoy used the muggle pretext of dropping something in order to visually scan the immediate vicinity in search of his quarry.

There was no sign of the newest edition to staff though, and Draco fumed at the fact that he didn't know what was going on. After his talk with Neville, Draco had been called up to the Headmasters office, where he had had quite possibly the strangest talk with Dumbledore as of yet. Slyly suggesting Draco keep a close eye on the newest member of staff, and yet emphasising the fact that he was to be trusted. Spying on someone and trusting them at the same time was not something Draco was accustomed to doing, and he could practically feel the Headmaster trying to tell him something else, but for some reason not coming right out and saying it. Merlin, but conversations filled with hidden meanings gave him a headache!

And now the man he'd been following had vanished on him, which was not a good start to keeping an eye on someone. Trustworthy or not!

Briefly flicking a glance at the black raven perched on top of the statue of Guidervre, Draco felt a shiver pass through him when his eyes met its green gaze head on, but then he was heading back to his own rooms, and quickly shrugged it off as a chill breeze.

Harry looked in the direction Draco had just gone, feeling vaguely shaken by everything he'd just felt coming off the man. Normally only able to get a sense of emotions through his eighth sense, his bond with Draco was so strong his senses had opened right up and he'd managed to pick up an exact replication of Draco's meeting with Dumbledore, when their eyes had met that instant. Shaken by the intense feelings of longing and loneliness he'd felt pouring off the other man, Harry tried to shrug it off by focusing on the anger he felt at the Headmaster's manipulations instead.

Storming up to the gargoyle, Harry had to swear he meant the Headmaster no physical harm before the castle would grant him entry. Luckily the castle understood his need to vent enough not to place a restriction on his yelling as well. Taking the stairs two at a time, Harry wasn't even breathing hard by the time he reached the top and opened the door without knocking on it.

Seated behind his desk and knee deep in documents, Dumbledore looked up in surprise at Harry's abrupt entrance. He had barely begun to narrow his eyes in thought before Harry slammed his hands down on the desk in front of him.

"Ah, yes, Harry? I trust you wanted to see me about something…? Unless you just felt like entering my office for no reason, which you'd be surprised how many people…"

"Albus, stop it. I am not in the mood for joking, and I am definitely not receptive to your attempt to lighten up the 'atmosphere'."

Glancing down at his desk momentarily, the Headmaster looked strangely reminiscent of a naughty boy caught doing something he shouldn't be doing. Unable to keep a hold of his rage, Harry just felt strangely hurt by the whole thing.

"I know you said you would drop hints about who I am, as you are against my hiding my identity. But…getting Draco to follow me? In the hope that, what? If he watched me long enough he'd realise how much I resemble Harry Potter? If he watched me long enough I'd slip up and accidentally reveal myself?"

"Why Dumbledore? Why won't you let me just see how everyone is doing and then go my own way again? I did what you wanted of me, I did what everyone wanted of me! Why can't you let me have what's left of my life for myself? Is that just too much to ask?!"

Shrewd blue eyes snapped up, as the stress of everything caught up with Harry and two silent tears made their way down his cheeks. Rising from his seat, Dumbledore came around his desk and gently eased Harry into the plush armchair used for guests. Standing over the silent young man, Albus Dumbledore looked down at the hero of the wizarding world and felt the regret he had been consumed with for years.

"I want you to have the life you deserve my boy, I always did. I hoped that by helping you defeat Voldemort, I'd enable you to live the rest of your life free of that damn prophecy, live it as life should be lived. I neglected thinking the pain it must have caused you to have that amount of responsibility put on you so young."

Shaking his silver head wearily, Dumbledore lowered himself until he was perched on the arm of the other guest armchair. Blue eyes hazed over, as the Headmaster recalled the events that had led up to this moment, and tried to think how best to soothe the unhappy young man before him. A compromise appeared to be in order.

"I did things so wrong back then, but I'm glad you were able to get rid of Voldemort, and since that day I have been working to make things up to everyone."

"Some people I will be unable to make thing up to until they know you are safe and well, and are able to see you with their own eyes. I'd almost lost hope on making things up to you, and to have you here but be unable to tell anyone…I just want to make things better, and I feel that, for you, things will never be better until you can learn to accept what you did and everything that goes with that!"

"Allowing people to know where you are is the first step towards that in my eyes, and I apologise for trying to force you to take it. I tell you what, I won't keep trying to make you trip up, but I still won't actively hide who you are, and…when you're ready, you can tell me and I'll help you face everybody. Okay?"

Touching his fingers to his cheeks, Harry stared for a moment at the tear drops he found there, his eyes looking beyond the material as he pondered Dumbledore's words.

Snapping out of it, the boy wonder turned sharp emerald eyes on his old Headmaster, all anger and sadness wiped out as he nodded his head in acceptance.

****

I know, I know - this chapter was really crap! And you're going to hate me, because I've decided to concentrate on furthering some of my other fics for a while, which means it'll take me even longer to update this one than it does already! dodges projectiles thrown at me

Still, I hope to maybe finish one of my fics, although I only seem capable of starting them, not finishing them - the only one I've managed to do that to I started a sequel on, and still haven't finished that!

Anyway, R&R please? If only to yell at me for taking a break, when that is all I seem to do! lol


	6. Keeping two lives apart

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of it's characters, so don't sue me!

Pairings: H/D and N/? so far…

Plot: Harry, a.k.a.; Guy, is coming back home. After the war and Voldemort was defeated, Harry walked away from his life and the after-effects of the battle, seeking refuge from the world in his persona - Guy. Now, it's time for him to face the music, and that which manages to scare him, when Voldemort always managed to fail.

Chapter Six

Running a hand through his shaggy mop of hair, Harry heaved a sigh as he crossed out yet another mistake made by a promising third year pupil.

He just didn't understand it. Five weeks he'd been here already, working as the Professor of Muggle Studies, and over that time he'd gotten to know the pupils more than the staff. Yet for some reason, Daniel Uptone, the best pupil in his class despite his Hufflepuff status, had recently begun going steadily downhill in his work. Normally the student who put his hand up for every question, he'd been conspicuously silent over the past week, and his dwindling concentration was showing in all of his classwork and homework.

To begin with Harry had figured it would pass, but the sheer number of simple mistakes made on this latest piece of work suggested it had gotten so bad that the problem needed to be addressed - before the boy fell any more behind in his work.

Setting aside the red-ink quill, Harry tossed the last piece of marking on top of the pile with the others before stretching in his seat.

As always he'd forgone eating in the hall with the rest of the faculty and the pupils, preferring to plow through any marking or preparation that needed doing, and then sneaking down to the kitchens for a snack of some kind later on.

When he'd failed to show up for the first couple of meals after starting his job, Dumbledore had tracked him down in his classroom and questioned him on it. Other than expressing his disapproval over Harry's plan of avoidance, Dumbledore hadn't bothered him again, and nobody else knew him well enough to care if he didn't attend.

One ritual he couldn't bear to part with though, was his habit of overdosing on creamy coffee first thing in the morning. Unfortunately the kitchens weren't open first thing in the morning, as the house elves were swamped making breakfast - just as they were closed around lunch and dinner, so that food could be prepared for everyone unhindered. Harry could always conjure up a cup, but for some reason he never managed to get it just the way he wanted it.

So the staff room served as a necessary evil in the morning, as without the coffee Harry would be unable to function. Other than blundering into Flitwick and Snape the first couple of days at Hogwarts, Harry had perfected the art of getting up early enough that the other members of the faculty were still abed, and yet late enough for the house elves to have set up the drinks and snacks that were replenished throughout the day.

Downing the remainder of his current coffee, Harry contemplated getting a refill before hiding out in his quarters for the rest of the evening, as he did every night. His stomach decided for him, letting out a hungry grumble, and Harry figured he could get the top up whilst scavenging for food.

Absently reminding himself to contact Ben at the club tonight, to discuss extending his leave or whatever, Harry neatly tidied up his desk. A flick of the wand set the classroom back to the same orderliness it was every morning, and Harry set off for the kitchens - satisfied he'd left no evidence of himself being there. A habit from the war that he had yet to break.

Four flights of stairs, five corridors later, and Harry found himself in front of the pear portrait. Juggling his pile of papers under the arm holding his cup, Harry finally managed to secure all the pieces of parchment and free his right hand enough to tickle the pear. Stepping over the slight step, Harry entered the kitchen.

Mildly surprised when Dobby - the official kitchen elf 'visitor liaison' - didn't come hurrying over offering food, Harry immediately went on alert. Finally spotting the familiar elf through the turmoil that always encompassed the kitchens, Harry got an unpleasant jolt when he recognised who Dobby was currently seeing to.

Dumbledore had rescinded his orders for Draco to follow Harry, as he'd promised. Despite doing so, the blonde's suspicious nature had been roused, and he'd kept a close eye on Harry anyway. Draco's attempts to corner and question Harry had been hindered by the new Professor's recluse-like tendencies, and any chance for subtle interrogations over supper had also been nipped in the bud due to the fact that Harry was never present. Unfortunately, Harry had just presented himself on a platter for the suspicious man.

Before Harry could turn on his heel and make his escape, Dobby looked up and spotted him. Deciding to stick it out, Harry continued forward, making his way to the small table Dobby had conjured for Draco.

"Hello, Professor Jamieson! Can Dobby fetch you some food, sir?"

Flicking the briefest of glances at the Professor of Arithmancy, Harry could tell by the mildly uncomfortable sensation on his eyes that the blue glamour was holding up.

Not designed for use over long periods of time, it was nevertheless the most convincing spell to hide trademark looks, and the least detectable. Having used it to turn his memorable green eyes blue upon his arrival at Hogwarts, Harry had since been using it to conceal his scar as well. Although the spell needed to be removed and replaced pretty often throughout the day, it still changed his appearance enough that it abolished any lingering resemblance to his younger self.

Satisfied he'd be able to pass a close inspection, Harry asked Dobby for his usual evening meal of whatever cold cuts were lying around, with some freshly baked bread.

"And some more coffee if you have any, please?"

Taking the proffered mug, Dobby disappeared to another part of the kitchen with a pop, and was back by the time Harry had taken a seat opposite Draco at the table, which had stretched to accommodate the newcomer.

Thanking the friendly house elf for the food, Harry ignored the suspiciously bland look directed at him by Draco, in favour of diving into the delicious food. He'd yet again forgotten to eat lunch, and the array of turkey, chicken and ham, stuffed into bread still warm enough that the butter had melted - was extremely welcome to Harry's stomach.

Letting the obviously ravenous man eat his fill, Draco leaned back in his chair - sipping his own mug of tea, and marvelling over the fact that his patience had finally paid off.

Three days he'd been trying to track this man down. Three days and they lived in the same bloody castle! Shame he hadn't thought of staking out the kitchens until today, and even then that was only because he himself had missed dinner due to helping Severus clean up the result of one of his potion experiments. Unlike Severus, Draco had been unable to ignore the hunger pangs, and he'd come seeking sustenance, only to have the 'elusive' Professor he'd been looking for stumble in as he was washing down his meal. Now that is called lucky - and Draco had no intention of passing up the opportunity he'd been handed.

Examining the man over the rim of his mug, Draco had to admit the man had broody attractiveness down to a fine art. He was currently wearing muggle clothes, as befitted the Professor of Muggle Studies - but Draco doubted the man had worn them because of the subject. There was something about the way he lounged in the black jeans and grey dress shirt, that suggested Alexander Jamieson was a lot more at home in them then he would be in the traditional wizards robe.

Noticing the other man finally begin to slow down and eat at a more leisurely pace, Draco figured he could begin 'getting to know' the other Professor now.

"How are you finding the job so far?" An innocuous first question to Draco's mind, but the shrewd look Jamieson gifted him with suggested the other man saw right through him. Not something Draco was used to happening.

"It's all right. I need to chat with one of my students soon though as they're falling rather behind on the work."

"Who's falling behind?" Berating himself for getting sidetracked, Draco nontheless noticed that his query caught Jamieson's attention, as a pair of piercing blue eyes snapped up to meet his gaze.

"Daniel Uptone. Do you have him for Arithmancy?"

Making note of the fact the other teacher knew what subject he taught, even though they'd only met, very briefly, the first day Alexander had arrived, Draco rifled through his brain, trying to remember why the name Daniel Uptone sounded familiar.

"No, I don't have him for Arithmancy. I do, however, remember a few other Professors talking about him yesterday. Apparently his work is slipping in his other subjects as well as yours. I wonder why?"

"I don't know. Yet." Noting the determined gaze on the other's face, Draco suddenly got the feeling Alexander Jamieson would find out where the other Professor's had failed.

"It was nice chatting with you, but I'm afraid I've got to get going. I have some errands to run before I turn in. 'Night."

Looking up at the abrupt exit, Draco was left with his mouth hanging open - next question on the tip of his tongue, and frustration paramount in his mind.

Harry, however, had already moved on to the next job of the evening - contacting Ben. Sure, it was handy, knowing the problems Daniel was having weren't restricted to his class, but aside from the brief slip-up with Draco, Harry had no intention of socialising with any of the staff whilst teaching here, preferring to judge how they were faring from a distance.

Ben, on the other hand, Harry had no such problems with. And seeing how much he owed the other man - for giving him a job when he so desperately needed one, not to mention somewhere to hole up when he wasn't ready to face the world yet - he couldn't permanently quit over the phone. Not to mention, in truth, he missed the friends he'd made over the past three years. That thought uppermost in his mind, Harry decided to drop over there personally, and tell Ben his plans. Luckily it was Friday, so he could stay and help/hang out at the club for as long as he wanted.

Reaching his rooms in the staff corridors', Harry whispered his password, "Hoobastank" to the portrait of a raven, and quickly slipped inside.

Dropping his pile of graded work onto the chair next to the portrait hole, Harry idly sipped from his hot coffee as he stepped further inside. The Daily Prophet had been pushed through the magical letterbox on his portrait, which only allowed harmless objects through - the paper which Professors could arrange to have delivered to their rooms daily, and then paid for at the end of each week.

Scooping it up off the floor as he passed, Harry set his mug down on the living room coffee table, and started scanning the wizard newspaper for anything of interest as he headed for the bedroom.

The only window in the place was above the sink in the mini kitchenette, yet the rooms' all held a cheerful light during the day, and enough magic-powered lamps to be cheerful at night as well. Despite this, Harry had chosen to decorate with rather dreary colours, although he stuck to shades of coffee and creams for the kitchen and bathroom.

Harry's bedroom was done in shades of violet-grey, the watered-down shade keeping it from looking like some kind of morgue, and the black bedspread keeping it goth enough to not fall into the hospital style category either.

The living room was filled with different shades of red, which the cream coloured couches and chairs highlighted.

Harry's quarters couldn't be described as depressing, and yet they were strikingly dramatic, with a subtle gothic theme. Judging by Harry's monochrome wardrobe, people would no doubt expect something similar for his home, and it was - yet it managed to be homely at the same time.

About to enter the bathroom and take a shower before getting changed, Harry paused mid-step. Heart re-starting, he let out a growl of annoyance, dropping the paper to the floor before continuing into the large bathroom.

As the shower started up, and clothes were carelessly shed, on the floor of the bedroom, the glaring title stared up at the ceiling.

**'Harry Potter, Wizarding Hero - sighted once more…in Cornwall this time!'**

An excruciatingly hot shower later, Harry stepped out of the bathroom, roughly drying his hair with one towel, the other slung around his waist. Pointedly ignoring the newspaper on the floor as he stepped over it, Harry went straight to his wardrobe and got out his usual clubbing outfit - which was actually pretty similar to his normal clothes.

Baggy black jeans concealed the corded muscle on his legs, and a tight black vest emphasised his leanness - the same outfit he'd been wearing five weeks ago when he first arrived at Hogwarts. Anybody looking at him would say he looked dangerous, and yet the outfit was deliberately chosen for the fact that it distracted from his powerful build, and as such made him look more decorative than weapon-like. Plus, at least with monochrome he didn't have to expend much effort on colour co-ordination.

Ruffling his still damp hair with his fingers, Harry released the glamour on his scar, glad to be relieved of the vague itchiness it caused him, but decided to leave the glamour on his eyes - just in case anybody saw him before he left.

Ignoring the black dress shoes he wore for classes, Harry dug around in the back of his wardrobe until he finally pulled out a pair of dragonhide boots. He'd secretly wanted a pair ever since he saw Charlie's, and they'd ended up coming in very handy during the war as they were suitable for any situation. Slipping them on and buckling them up over the top of his jeans, Harry quickly swilled out his empty coffee mug in the kitchen, and grabbed his keys before heading out.

It was fully dark by the time Harry exited the gates of Hogwarts, and he did away with the blue eyes before apparating into London.

Harry had rented the flat in London mere days before the end of the war, and it was to there that he had absconded when he needed somewhere safe to heal and hide out. Afterwards he'd looked for a job he could blend in with, and had found Ben and the 'Dark Rose' club. Despite immediately falling in love with the style of the club, and getting on brilliantly with the people who worked there, Harry had maintained the lease on the flat - and it was to there that he returned night after night.

Manually climbing the three flights of stairs reminded him of his journey to the kitchens earlier, and as with them he suffered no shortness of breath or flushed cheeks - the legacy of the training he'd undergone for the battle, and still stuck to, to some degree.

Slotting the key in the lock, Harry opened the door with his eyes on the floor. A vague feeling hung in the air - different from the one of suspended stillness that usually greeted him. Pushing the door open farther, Harry stepped in alertly, eyes cautiously checking for intruders and hands tingling as he charged them with magic.

The rooms were empty, but the sense that someone had been there kept tugging at Harry's senses. He'd taken up the habit of spending his weekends there in order to avoid anybody at Hogwarts, and to check in with his answering machine - the phone number for which he'd only given to Ben and Dumbledore.

And whilst he normally kept his living space meticulously clean and spartan, a habit which extended to his classroom, last weekend he'd left things a bit late, and as such he hadn't had time to go through every room and erase any signs of occupation.

Due to the large periods of time Harry had spent there immediately after the war, and the way he always returned to the flat at some point, he'd fallen into the habit of leaving all of his personal things there. Including a large portion of clothes that he felt he didn't need at the moment. Being somewhat sentimental about things, there was also a large selection of knick knacks, such as; beer mats, empty sweet boxes, newspaper clippings and a myriad of notes from friends - all of which identified the occupant of the flat as Harry James Potter, and at the moment were easily accessible in the draw on his bedside table.

Dropping his keys next to the answering machine, Harry lightly kicked the door shut behind him, before making his way through the flat.

It was the small oddities that supported Harry's instincts; a book tilting the wrong way, a smudge on the draining board, and an indent in his covers that hadn't been there before. And throughout the flat there lingered the faintest scent - of stale cigarettes and some kind of alcohol, which sparked a vague familiarity in Harry for some reason.

Leaving everything as it was for the moment - ignoring the impulse to scrub the frying pan that had ended up soaking for an entire week, or tidy the bed that had been unmade the same amount of time - Harry turned his focus to the answering machine. No lights were blinking, but a suspicion made him rewind the tape and then play it.

His suspicion paid off as two messages ran. One from Ben - wishing 'Guy' good luck with whatever he was doing, and reassuring him that there would always be a job available for him at the 'Dark Rose', then going on to check he was still visiting that weekend. The machine was pleased to inform him the message had been recorded Thursday lunchtime.

The second message was slightly more worrying - not because of what it said, but because of what information it will have given the intruder. It was from Dumbledore, making sure Harry was doing okay - seeing how he'd made it abundantly clear that he wanted to limit his contact with the Headmaster whilst at Hogwarts, Albus had obviously decided to ring and leave a message for him instead of accosting him at school.

Normally Harry would say that was a wise decision, but the intruder had obviously listened to both messages - a fact made clear as the light was out - and whoever the intruder was now knew Harry used the alias 'Guy', worked at a place called the Dark Rose, and was planning on visiting there again at the weekend. Not to mention that the Headmaster of Hogwarts was fully aware of how to contact Harry, is not his exact location.

Anybody else would change their plans in accordance with this revelation, but Harry simply grabbed his keys and locked up behind him, before apparating just down the road from the Dark Rose.

The club was in full swing by the time Harry arrived, with the live performers, 'Kilba', fully warmed up and playing their latest single. People spilled into the club, well on the road to being drunk already. Bouncers checked people's ID at the door, but let Harry in on sight.

The club was even darker at night than during the day, with the only proper lighting coming from the lounge area and the bar. Steps had discrete lights to guide people safely up them, and the fog of cigarettes mingled with dry ice from the stage. A couple of quiet groups occupied the lounge area, and the dance floor and clubber's tables were heaving with bodies. The bar was three people deep, and all five of the bartenders were working non-stop.

Ben was behind the bar as usual, which meant that Sannah was likely in the kitchen dishing up the bar-style food. Just as Harry was thinking that, the door to the kitchen area swung open, and Lucy entered the bar area, tray stacked high with dips and nachos. Manoeuvring around Patrick who was pouring what looked like a 'screaming orgasm', Lucy had almost made it onto the clubber's floor when she caught sight of Harry.

Pausing long enough to inform Ben of his presence, Lucy continued on to the table whose food she was carrying, throwing a smile of welcome in Harry's direction as she went.

Looking up from the drink he was mixing, Ben's light green eyes sparkled with delight at seeing Harry, and he quickly waved him over.

Threading his way through the crowd, Harry's gaze swept the throngs of people restlessly, checking to see if his intruder had shown up. Reaching Ben's side without incident, Harry automatically helped his friend with his current order, hands handling bottles with the ease of practise.

"So…how've things been? You never say much when you ring, but I take it you're doing all right?"

Handing the pretty blond at the front of the queue her drink, with a flirtatious smile, Ben flicked his own blonde hair out of his face as he started on the next drink, clever green eyes darting up to Harry's face as he waited for a reply.

"Yeah, things are going good, I guess."

Pausing slightly before moving onto his next concoction, Harry acknowledged the fact that it was too loud to have a proper conversation, and asked Ben is they could talk in private.

"Sure." Arching an eyebrow slightly in surprise, Ben half-turned and yelled at Patrick to watch his side of the bar.

Ignoring the man's protests, he finished the order he was doing, then ushered Harry out back. Shutting the door to the office behind them, the noise that had managed to seep into the corridor was completely blocked out, making conversation possible for once.

"So, what did you want to talk about?"

"This is going to sound really weird, but has anybody come in here asking for me tonight?"

Giving his friend an odd look, Ben glanced back at the door they'd just entered through. "Yeah actually. This weird, older guy came asking. I told him you used to work for me but you'd quit, yet he was strangely insistent that you might have turned up for tonight."

"Kind of freaked me out the way he seemed to know you'd be visiting this evening. Why, were you expecting someone?"

"Sort of. However, this isn't someone I want to see. I think he might be a private investigator of sorts."

"What?!" Ben raked an agitated hand through his hair. "I thought you were fixing things in your life…now you've got somebody investigating you?"

Sighing heavily, Harry decided it was time to tell Ben some of the truth about his past.

"I split rather suddenly from my old life, and some of my friends and people I knew are still hung up on finding me. No - I didn't do anything bad. I just…left."

"I've gone back, but they don't recognise me, and I'd rather check up on how they're doing without getting bogged down with past actions. Unfortunately they found my flat the other day, and they listened to my messages, which is how they knew to come here."

"Jeez." Wishing Guy had turned to Sannah to confide in as opposed to him, Ben raked his hand through his hair again, and tried to think what his wife would say.

"I trust you when you say you didn't do anything bad. I don't know why, but something tells me you're a good guy - no pun intended! So, if you're sure this is the way you want to go about 'catching up' with your friends, then I guess it's not in your best interests to be found by this investigator person…"

One look at the normally-neutral Guy's hopeful expression, and Ben was a goner.

"Okay, look - I might as well point out this guy to you, so you at least know who's looking for you. Then you can sneak out the back if you want. But…!"

Ben raised a hand to interrupt his friend's "thanks", determined to lay down some conditions.

"I want you to keep me updated on how things are going with you, and I expect these reports to be considerably more informative than they have been recently. You and I are going to have to have a proper conversation about your past as well sometime - but even I can tell now's not a good time."

Dipping his head cautiously, Harry accepted his friend's rules and wondered exactly how he was meant to tell his friend wizards existed, and he himself was their 'saviour' - not something Ben was likely expecting to hear. Following Ben back to the club, Harry felt like he was a young kid again as they peered out from round the door, his friend whispering the location of his intruder out of the side of his mouth.

"Right..." "Left slightly..." "Up the stairs…" "Next to the woman dressed like a red whale…" "No, not him…the one next to him…"

Finally, Harry's green eyes locked on to a familiar figure, and he jumped back into the corridor as though he'd just been electrocuted.

Mad-eye Moody. No wonder the smell in his flat has seemed so familiar! After being paired up with the man the majority of the time during the way, he shouldn't be surprised he could still recognise the trademark scent of marlboros and whatever alcohol the man was presently favouring - more often than not, bourbon.

Still, Moody wouldn't be trying to track Harry down unless he'd been asked to, and the only ones who could get Moody to do it would be people he respected. Quite a small list. With a bit of detective work, Harry would know just who still held out hope that he would be found, and after that it would be small work to make them think he was dead.

Slipping out the back door of the club, Harry decided he might as well keep the flat, even if they now knew it was his - he'd just have to be more careful with his comings and goings at the weekend.

One thing he could be thankful for though, was the fact that his glamour charm worked even against Moody's magical eye, and even though the man had been one of the last people to see Harry before he'd disappeared, that very same man would be expecting the boy-wonder to be horribly disfigured - if his last glimpses of Harry were anything to go by.

****

Really crappy ending - I just couldn't work out how I wanted to end it, so I just did! shrug

Hopefully, the fact that this is a really long chapter will make up for what it lacks in action, and good plot.

R&R, please?


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